


s'mores & diamond

by Areiton



Series: food & feels [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Gift Giving, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Oral Sex, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 17:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19931539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He wants to give Peter the whole goddamn world, even if his boy has only ever wanted sweet kisses and lazy afternoons in the lab.Tony Stark Bingo: T1 Hedonism





	s'mores & diamond

They go to Paris and Rio and Tokyo and Florence, when Peter graduates. He wants to give Peter the whole goddamn world, even if his boy has only ever wanted sweet kisses and lazy afternoons in the lab.

He takes him to every exotic far-flung city Peter mentioned in the years he was in school, one for each year of distance and phone calls and lonely nights. And Peter, Peter revels in it, flushed and beautiful, lips stained wine red in Paris, eyes alight and eager in Florence, hips shaking and seductive in Rio, head tipped back and throat bare in Tokyo, taking every present, every tiny gesture and gift as his due, a sleek, hungry, hedonistic god, all shy meek sweet boy long since vanished as he rides Tony in the private, opulent jet between cities, as he sucks him off lazily, sprawled naked on silk sheets between his legs and falls asleep there, the exhausted sleep of the very young, all soft round limbs and slack pink mouth and delicious loose slick that Tony fucks into, when he grows impatient, and Peter presses back sleepily. 

He gives him the world and preens at the way Peter takes it like a prince. 

That was first. 

When Tony showed him the world. 

But the long years between them were stretched--there was the two years of grad school. There was Peter, insisting he get to plan some of their world wide vacation.

Tony laughed, kissed him, let him have his way.

The first part, they went nowhere. A weekend in the Tower, locked in Tony's penthouse with movies and chocolate, two days of sex and sleep and laughter. Peter called it a staycation, and looked so pleased with himself, with the fairy lights abd pillow forts and drapped blankets that Tony melted into it. 

As lovely as he was in the lights of Tokyo and Paris, Florence and Rio, as hedonistic and gorgeous, there is something achingly right to see him here, lazy and content and happy in the place Tony wants to be his home.  _ Their _ home.

He almost asked there. Almost asked in their hotel room in Tokyo and on the beach in Rio and the canals of Venice and when Peter was lit by the lights of the Eiffel tower. 

But most, the words rattled behind his teeth and the ring sat heavy in his pocket in the quiet familiar comfort of their home. 

And then Peter took him camping. To the rustic dusty cabin he inherited from his parents, to the lumpy mattress two decades past it's prime and food that is undercooked and burnt by turns. 

Tony doesn't ask if Peter is sure about this. Years of dating and trashy cheap food balancing the five star cuisine, homemade presents to counter the diamonds, bike tours to match whirlwind weekend trips to Berlin. 

Peter took every opulent extravagant excess, basked in it, and wrapped Tony in gentle sweet normality. 

He watches Peter, wrapped firelight edged shadows, and thinks  _ I love him.  _

Love his sweet smile and sharp tongue and dirty mouth and brilliant mind and impossibly big heart. 

Love the way his eyes go wide and hot when liquid chocolate spills from eight dollar confectionery masterpieces, and the way he giggles over thousand dollar bottles of champagne and the way he watches wide eyed and earnest as he toasts a marshmallow. 

He presents it--cheap chocolate too hard on a stale graham cracker with a burnt marshmallow--a goo sticky mess, that no one,  _ no one  _ would ever think to give Tony Stark. 

Peter always gives things no one has ever given him. 

His fingers tremble and a question rattles against his teeth and he bites down, crumbs and sugar and sticky ash on his tongue, and Peter grins, delighted. 

"Marry me," he blurts through the s'more and firelight and Peter goes still. 

Utterly. 

Tony fumbles, drags out a ring of pure vibranium, blue and red and gold bands braided throughout and says, desperate hopeful impatient demanding adoring, says it all. " _Marry me_."

Peter's exultant  _ yes  _ tastes better than any foreign exotic delicacy, better than sticky s'mores, better than  _ anything.  _


End file.
